


(un)break me, (un)love me

by hen_ty (orphan_account)



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: 30 day challenge, Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Masturbation, Shameless Smut, Unrequited, there will be a few chapters featuring aoba so look out, will get more nsfw as chapters go on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-02-11 04:05:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 14,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2052888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/hen_ty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I want to make your life miserable. I want to do horrible, unspeakable things that will leave you a broken, bloody mess. In a way, I suppose you can say that this is love." - { 30 day dysfunctional relationship challenge }</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. you were right about me

**Author's Note:**

> im using the un-love you writing/art challenge from tumblr 
> 
> i probably won't be able to update every day, but i'll definitely be working on this whenever i can. on another note, im writing the interactions between these two based on what is canon and implied through their behaviors in the games.

“You’re nothing without me.”

Virus had been a mere boy back when he said those words. Knobby knees, a light voice, glasses that looked far too serious on a child his age-- and yet there he had been, sitting across the library table with a book in hand, staring at Trip with twisted amusement in his eyes.

At the time, Trip was also a child, and a foolish one at that. He liked Virus. He liked how he was different from the other children, liked how he understood his destructive tendencies better than anyone else in the whole damn world could. So hearing Virus address him like that was exciting, an experience beyond description or understanding.

“What do you mean?”

“You depend on me, don’t you? I’ve seen how you watch me. You look like a pathetic dog.”

And of course, Trip had protested to that. Not in the violent way he would with anyone else other than Virus, but instead in a hushed, almost timid voice that could hardly be heard despite the close distance between them. “You’re wrong,” he had said. “I’m not like that. I’m not like that at all.”

Back then, he couldn’t quite understand why Virus had spoken like that to him. They hardly knew much about each other at that point and were more so acquaintances than anything else despite how often they were together.

But now, Trip understands. He understands the twisted dependency, the sickening desire he feels pool in his gut every damn time he has Virus pinned beneath him, whispering insults and other horrors into his ear. Each time Virus parts his lips, he drags Trip deeper, luring him further into the web where only ecstasy and hatred keep them entwined. To call it worship might be taking it too far, but oh, he’d gladly get on his knees and beg to fuck him if it meant being able to indulge in more of their sick little games. He'd gladly do a lot of things, really.

The hold around his neck then tightens. He's being choked and it feels wonderful. But of course, he keeps this thought to himself, instead moving his gaze to focus on the one beneath him. “You know," Virus laughs, voice torn between amusement and pleasure, "You really are nothing without me."

At that, Trip closes his eyes.

“Yeah.”


	2. i was wrong about you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no smut/implied smut in this chapter. just these two being assholes.

Trip has a lot of annoying habits. He hums frequently, clicks his tongue and cracks his knuckles when nervous or in deep thought, hoards sweets and leaves fucking crumbs everywhere-- hell, the list goes on. It’s enough to make Virus want to grab him by the jaw and just **squeeze** him until something breaks, but even then there’ll be something left to annoy him. The blood, probably, or the groans of pain. 

All in all, Trip is pretty fucking annoying as a person. 

But his worst habit just has to be the way he watches Virus when he thinks he won’t notice, because aside from being absolutely pathetic, it’s pretty damn unnerving. It takes a lot to make Virus feel uncomfortable, but the way Trip just stares at him, looking as if he means to tear his way right through him, is just too disgusting to ignore. It’s like he’s desperately trying to find something in him, or like he’s trying to find the right place to stick a blade. Either way, it makes Virus feel sick, and he’d much rather rip the fucker’s eyes out than deal with it any longer. 

_Except I can’t do much with a blind idiot, now can I?_

Virus can feel those eyes on him again. They’re sitting not too far from the Dry Juice hangout, resting on different steps in front of an old storage place marked by Morphine. He’s seated on the second step closest to the street and Trip is seated on the fourth. It’s not a very refined place to rest, but they’re under orders today. 

And Trip is fucking staring at him again. 

Virus closes his coil screen and sighs before turning around, brows furrowed. “Quit it.”

“Huh?”

“Quit staring at me. I don’t like it.”

“There’s nothing else for me to do.”

Now he really does want to blind him. Maybe even rip his tongue out for good measure, too. At least then he won’t have to deal with his shit as much. But that won’t sit well when it comes to business, so Virus sighs again and turns back around, resting his elbows on his knees. He’s about ready to hit something-- or someone in particular if their idiotic conversation carries on like this. 

“You stare at me a lot. It’s unpleasant.”

Trip makes a somewhat startled noise. “So?”

“You’re unpleasant. I know just what kind of thoughts go through your mind when you look at me.” Virus can’t help but smirk a little before glancing back over his shoulder. “And that’s what makes it so sickening. Am I right?”

He clicks his tongue at that (which causes Virus to flinch, because by god, it’s so fucking irritating) before leaning back against the steps behind him, relaxed despite the tension brewing between them. A silence passes between them before he finally speaks up, voice low and controlled. “I usually think about strangling you from behind,” he says with a shrug. “That or grabbing your hair and dragging you through the streets by it. If you ask me, you’re a dumbass for always leaving your back exposed like you do.” 

Virus visibly tenses at that. 

He doesn’t like being wrong about things.


	3. this cancels out the hurt

Touching himself to the thought of Virus always leaves a sick, bitter taste in his mouth. It’s like his body knows how disgusting it is to even associate thoughts of pleasure with the bastard, yet somehow he allows it, finding the sweetness of ecstasy only when thinking about the other treating him like absolute shit. Maybe it’s because he knows that’s really all he deserves-- after all, someone like him can’t possibly deserve anything good, anything remotely stable and pure. But still, of all people, it’s Virus. It’s always Virus, and it’s always the thought of him talking down to him, stepping on him, calling him things like _slut_ and _pig_ without a passing thought. 

It doesn’t hurt at all to think of him like that. Virus is just an unpleasant person behind closed doors. 

Trip sits on his bed, lower half of his body hidden by the dark blankets as he touches himself again. His hand wrapped around the throbbing heat of his cock, giving a rather tight squeeze to the head that makes his hips lurch forward, as if expecting to find some further pleasures. If Virus were the one doing this, he’d be squeezing and maybe biting a lot. With that though, Trip tightens his grip again, groaning softly under his breath as he does so. 

In his mind, Virus is settled right between his legs, hands wrapped around his cock. He’s watching Trip’s face, taking cruel delight in the way it’s twisting with pain and pleasure combined. And when Trip says he’s about ready to come, his hands slips down the shaft and squeeze again as he purrs, _Not yet, you sick little puppy. You don’t do anything until I say you can, you understand?_

Just the thought of Virus speaking to him in that breathless yet authoritative voice is enough to make Trip swallow and pick up the pace, pumping his cock faster, harder, with more desperation. 

He wants Virus. He wants Virus to insult him, to treat him like filth, to fucking **ruin** his life even more than he already has--

"V-Virus, nnh--!" 

A familiar sticky warmth quickly spills into his hands. He squeezes his cock once more, lightly this time, as his back arches and his lower half trembles from his orgasm. He's been doing this for a while now and has already climaxed a few times. Things are starting to become a little sensitive, not that he minds. 

Trip sits there, trying to catch his breath as he leans back against the headboard, staring up at the ceiling blankly. He needs to clean up and settle his breathing before going out again. Virus is probably going to ask where he’s been for the past twenty minutes, since they’re supposed to meet up, but ah, surely he won’t care too much. If anything, he’s probably enjoying having time to himself, despite how they actually have work that needs to be done. Virus doesn’t care about him. He’s just a convenience, isn’t he?

At that thought, Trip pulls away the blankets and looks back down at his softening erection. 

Maybe Virus won’t mind if he’s thirty minutes late instead.


	4. i need to want you

Virus stands with his back pressed firmly against the tiled wall, staring incredulously at the other as he parts the curtains and forces his way into the shower. There’s nothing to hide his nakedness or his obvious discomfort, so instead he looks away. Trip is already half into the shower despite still being fully dressed. His white shirt and usual vest are drenched, clinging tightly to his frame. And his hair-- Virus would laugh if he weren’t so disturbed by the intrusion. 

“What... What the hell are you doing in here? Get out.” 

Steam fills the air between them. Trip doesn’t make any efforts to leave, let alone move away from the flow of water from the shower. Instead, he fully enters, dressed and all, and corners Virus against the wall. He slams his hands on either side of him, pinning him in place. Virus doesn’t enjoy feeling vulnerable, doesn’t enjoy being made into a helpless fool-- but damn it, in this scenario, there really isn’t much else to do. Well, unless he wants to break Trip’s jaw.

Which might come to be the case in a matter of moments. 

“Can’t.”

“What do you mean, ‘can’t’? Get out, you goddamn--” 

Trip levels his gaze with him. As their eyes meet, Virus feels a sudden chill run down his spine. 

“I can't. I... I want you, Virus.”

There’s something in his voice that betrays the intense focus of his eyes-- desperation, is it? Whatever it is, it doesn’t do much to comfort Virus in their present situation. He knows exactly where this will all lead, and he isn’t looking forward to it. Scowling, he shoves the other away, not minding in the slightest as Trip stumbles back and falls over. He's soaked now, not to mention curled up on the floor, hissing in pain. Virus can't help but smirk at the sight. 

“Now, why the hell should I care about what you want?”

“--need you.”

This time, Virus brings his foot down against Trip’s head. He delights in the groan of pain that follows soon after. 

“You're a complete waste of my time, Trip. Keep that in mind."


	5. you can be like me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning! this chapter contains awkward, underage feelings. nothing too nsfw, just trip being a hormonal pre-teen.

“Do you like hurting others?”

Virus is sitting at the edge of his bed, wearing nothing but a thin nightshirt and a small pair of boxers. He’s not wearing his glasses and his hair is an unusual mess of tangles and curls. Seeing this side of him is actually quite pleasant, but not in the friendly, innocent way Trip wants it to be. It instead fills his head with funny thoughts that make his throat dry and his pants itchy. But it’s still pleasant in a weird sort of way, so he says nothing. He just hugs his knees to his chest and looks off to the side, concentrating on quenching the hot ember that’s been dropped right into the pit of his stomach. 

“I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

It’s dark and they’re supposed to be asleep. Trip wants to go to sleep and pretend he didn’t see Virus like this, looking so nice in his pajamas and so touchable with his soft skin. But Virus instead scoots closer, something like a smile on his lips. His hand slides across the blankets and brushes up against Trip’s leg, causing him to stiffen up. They shouldn’t be doing this kind of thing with the other kids around--

_What kind of thing is this, anyway?_

Virus is talking quietly now in a breathless kind of way. “I like hurting people. It’s exciting to see them squirm around. It makes me feel good inside-- do you know what I mean?”

Trip chews his lower lip and glances over at Virus. He wants to grab him by the hair and do unspeakable things to him, but that’s not what they’re supposed to do. They’re not even teenagers yet. This sort of thing is wrong, even for someone like him. 

“...I guess.”

“You can be like me, you know. You don’t have to care about others. You can live for yourself and do whatever you want.”

“Isn’t that too much? No one can do whatever they want.” 

Virus grins a little. “It’s possible. You just need to get rid of whoever is in your way.”

If he can do whatever he wants, then does that mean-- No, no, it can’t mean that. It can’t mean touching Virus, can’t mean doing those adult kind of things with him. That’s wrong. That’s wrong and not even he is willing to do that, not now. Trip swallows and hugs his legs to his chest. “Why do you want me involved, anyway? I fight good, but you don’t like me.”

Virus watches him for a moment before letting out something like a breathless laugh. It sounds a little forced. But before Trip can even ask what he’s laughing about, he finds Virus suddenly pressed up against him, lips locked with his. It’s a brief kiss, one that ends before he can even process that it’s begun. When Virus pulls away, he’s smirking. 

“You’re the easiest to work with. That’s why.” 

Trip doesn’t sleep well for the rest of the week.


	6. i want to need you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter relates to the vitri bad ending. just a heads up!

Aoba cries when he eats. He hiccups and whimpers as they stuff his mouth, hot tears rolling down his flushed cheeks with what can only be sheer joy at the attention he’s receiving. After all, what other reason is there for him to cry? He’s provided for, loved in ways no one else can match, and he’s always well bathed and fed with the absolute finest they can offer. They shove bits of cake into his mouth as he sits up on the bed, slouched and completely immobile save for the tears of delight rolling down his flushed cheeks. When he doesn’t make any attempts to chew or swallow, they graciously take his jaw and do it for him. They love feeding Aoba-- it’s almost as fun as fucking him. 

“Do you want to have Aoba-san tonight?” Virus is in a good mood today, it seems. He rarely asks Trip what he wants, instead only assuming that he’ll take whatever’s left from his own turn. “I have a few matters to attend to. I won’t mind. And besides, Aoba-san seems to be enjoying this cake you’ve made today. He might like your company.”

_I didn’t make the cake for him in the first place._

Not that it matters. Virus doesn’t eat his cakes.

Trip sighs and reaches over, wiping some pink cream away from Aoba’s lips. He silently notes how he tries to shrink away from his touch, but for the sake of conversation, he does nothing about that. “We can always share him tonight.”

“It’s fun seeing Aoba-san squirm when we both have him, but... ah, it’s odd when you’re there. We should just take turns, Trip.”

In other words, he doesn’t want Trip to get any funny ideas again. Last time, he had boldly leaned over across Aoba’s writhing body, pressing a sloppy kiss to the corner of Virus’ lips. And that, of course, had ended in disaster. Both he and Aoba were beaten that night. The last thing Trip wants is go through that annoying mess again, even if it had been oddly pleasant to feel Virus direct some kind of passionate energy towards him. 

“Besides,” Virus continues, forcing another chunk of cake into Aoba’s mouth, “You want Aoba-san. That is why he’s our darling thing. We both want him, both crave him more than life itself. Isn’t that right? Stop over-thinking things.”

"I want Aoba?"

"Yes. Why would you think otherwise?"

Trip says nothing. He instead forces another forkful of cake into Aoba's mouth, pressing the utensil hard enough against the poor man's tongue to draw blood. A soft whimper follows the injury, then nothing more. "I don't think I really know what I want," he finally replies. His voice is quieter than usual, but this isn't enough to alarm his partner in the slightest. Virus is too busy watching the blood trickle over Aoba's pretty, pale lips. "Maybe what I really need is--"

"Oh. Aoba is choking, Trip. Take care of it before our darling thing chokes to death."

"What, he can't wait? A body is still a body, dead or alive." 

"That's unpleasant."


	7. prove it

Sly is a difficult one to please. When he isn’t stirring up trouble, he’s almost always barking orders at those around him, demanding to be praised and sought after like the valued gem that he is. Others see him as nothing more than a talented Rhymer at best, but Virus knows better than to gamble with the common crowds. This boy is undoubtedly fine potential on level with--or perhaps far greater than-- their darling Sei. 

But oh, why spoil the fun this early into the game? There’s still so much to do, so much to prepare for. The time will come, but not just yet. His powers must ripen first before they can be used for their true purpose, and until then, the boy must be pleased.

Which is, again, a difficult task on its own. 

Tonight has been another successful attempt at Rhyme, and Sly, of course, is the victor. He’s sitting on one of the old couches, reveling in the fact that he’s just kicked an _entire team_ out of their own headquarters after one little game of Rhyme-- as it turns out, Sly’s a gambler, and a greedy one at that. 

“You two still following me around, eh?”

Virus smiles thinly through the cloud of cigarette smoke being blown against his face. Turns out, Sly is a smoker too. A heavy one. “We’re your fans, aren’t we? We are dedicated to seeing your matches against others.”

“Good job tonight,” Trip throws in with a small grin. 

“Quit the act. You need me to do something for you, am I right?” Sly takes a long drag on his cigarette before tossing it aside, uncaring. If the whole damn building burns down with everyone in it, he’ll probably just laugh and shrug it off like nothing. Hell, he might even celebrate it. But right now, he doesn’t look to be in the mood for celebrating anything, not even his recent Rhyme victory. “What is it? Want me to take care of someone for you?”

Virus laughs and shakes his head. “No, no. We simply wish to witness your fights. You’re amazing, Aoba-san. We really are your fans.”

“Then prove it. Prove how dedicated to me you really are.”

A pause. Trip glances over at Virus, already frowning and shifting uneasily in his seat at the sudden demand. It’s not in their nature to feel uncomfortable or nervous about much of anything, but this is an important case that they just can’t afford to lose. If Sly is already growing weary of them, they’ll have to be careful to avoid any, well, _casualties_.

“And how would we do that, huh?”

Another pause, followed by a loud snort from Sly as he leans further back in his seat. He crosses one leg over the other before looking down at the two with a smug grin. 

“Touch yourselves for me.”

::

Normally, they would break someone’s teeth for suggesting such a thing, let alone looking down on them for any reason at all. But again, this is a special case, and one they can’t afford to let slip through their fingers because of simple matters of pride. So rather than argue or suggest something else, they agree, getting down on their knees and undoing their jeans so they can free their not-so-eager cocks for the little display.

It’s a humiliating process. They sit on their knees, jerking themselves off as Sly watches them, smirking with delight at their absolute obedience. It isn’t even guaranteed that he’ll even come to trust or like them after this-- after all, it’s Sly. He might as well end up laughing it off. 

Virus finishes first. When he does, he trembles and stiffens up, groaning softly as he spills into his hand. Trip follows soon after, a sharp intake of breath being his only response to climaxing. 

“Well... Aoba-san...?”

The other rises from his seat and begins to work at the front of his jeans. 

“Good. Now you’re both going to fuck me.”


	8. i'm cruel

“I can’t fucking take this anymore!"

Virus watches in silence as Trip throws the second chair across the room. It smashes against the floor, two of its legs snapping off from the force of impact. The first chair from before is merely cracked down the middle, but the area of the wall it hit is smashed, layers of cheap plaster dirtying the floor. Normally, Virus would act up at the sight of his apartment being trashed like this right before him, but now he can’t help but watch and feel an odd sense of amusement from it all. Trip rarely gets angry at him like this, so why not sit back and watch the show?

“Are you done yet?”

He knocks over the table next. The wine bottle and glasses that had been on top of it topple to the floor, shattering and spilling red liquid onto the carpet. That will cost a lot to fix-- hell, this whole mess is going to be a complete pain to deal with afterwards. Virus secretly hopes that Trip will humiliate himself with this tantrum further so that he can at least level out his satisfaction with the damages. 

“I’m not done, you piece of shit,” Trip spits. He looks just as messy as the room by this point. “I’m not going to be fucking done. Why do you always do this to me? We’re partners. Stop fucking around with me. We’re supposed to mess with them, not each other, you bastard.”

Virus merely smiles. “I’m cruel and you know that. How else am I to satisfy myself on this island of idiots, hm?” 

“We’re supposed to be alike, you and I. You said so yourself once. Stop fucking with me.” Trip stops to wipe the sweat from his brow. He looks about ready to vomit all over the floor. If he does that, though, Virus won’t hesitate to break his fucking jaw. “One night you let me have you, the next you go fucking around with some random asshole and flaunt it in my face. You slut.”

“And you’re a child. But if it’ll keep you from throwing another tantrum, I’ll let you have me right now. We can even do it on the floor like dogs in heat, if you want. How does that sound?”

Trip doesn’t even respond. Instead, he shoves Virus to the ground and straddles his waist, staring down at him with wide, focused eyes. His expression doesn't change, doesn't twist with anger or pain like before, and that's what excites Virus the most. 

“I think I’d rather just kill you.”


	9. always wondered what this'd be like

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: drunken, nonconsensual sex in this chapter!

Virus is unusually drunk tonight. Sure, he’s been known to have one too many drinks every now and then during stressful periods of work, but tonight is different. He’s laughing now, smiling a weird smile that Trip’s never seen him wear before. It’s not bad, but it certainly isn’t something Virus would ever do while sober, especially towards him of all people. Trip secretly enjoys it, knowing that this is not something he will be seeing again anytime soon. 

But tonight, Virus is drunk and clinging to him like a giddy young schoolgirl. He’s not himself, mumbling incoherently about wanting, about needing, and it’s enough to drive Trip mad with want. By the time they leave the bar, arms wrapped up in each other as they stumble out onto the streets in drunken clumsiness, they’re already in the process of undressing. Trip has his vest carelessly draped over his shoulder, his hands busy working at the buttons of Virus’ shirt as he drags him into the alleyway running between the bar and the next building over. It’s dark and no one will see them, so who cares if they just fuck here and now? Certainly not Virus, given the way he’s already melting in his hands, pressed up against the nearest wall while grinding himself against Trip’s clothed, half-hard dick. 

"F-Fuck... Mm... Need it..." 

The way he slurs his words is so damn erotic, Trip nearly considers slamming him to the floor and just fucking him ruthlessly, without a care in the world about preparation and all that nonsense. He doesn't care at this point. All he wants is to take Virus, to claim the bastard and smear blood and semen all over his pretty, pretty skin. Keeping this in mind, he tugs down his pants just enough to free his cock. Virus stares at it, cheeks flushed from both the alcohol and the rising excitement between them.

"Do you want me to fuck you, Virus?"

A soft moan is offered in response as Virus fumbles with his own pants. But he's drunk and can hardly see straight, let alone think, so he ends up just tugging them down in quick, jerky movements. It's pathetic to see someone like him dragged down to this level of sheer desperation all because of a few drinks, but Trip isn't going to complain. He's already jerking himself off, wetting his cock in preparation (or what little he's willing to do of it). 

"I need..." Virus practically sinks into the wall. "Need... Nn..."

Trip places his hands on his shoulders and pushes him down. Drunk and disoriented, the other falls to his knees, hissing in pain at the sudden action. "If you want me to fuck you nice and good, you need to suck first. Like the dirty slut you are." 

Tonight, Virus is quite willingly to comply. Nodding, he leans forward and takes the throbbing cock into his mouth without hesitation or any signs of embarrassment. He is eager to sate his drunken lust and ends up taking in more than he can handle, but Trip doesn't let him leave. Instead, he grabs the other by the hair and forces him to remain still as he begins to roll his hips, thrusting his cock in and out of his drooling mouth. Virus does nothing to retaliate. Eyes rolling back, he lets Trip fuck his face, drool and pre-cum trickling from the corners of his mouth as he groans in agonized delight. 

_I've never seen him like this before... I like it_

Looking down, Trip notices that Virus is roughly jerking himself off at the same time, practically matching the growing speed of his thrusts with his hand. The sight is erotic enough to make him shiver, feeling just so damn pleased with himself for finally, _finally_ , getting Virus to open up, to act like the needy slut he's always wanted him to be. 

_He's mine. At least for tonight._


	10. i'm broken

Normal people usually feel a twinge of guilt or worry whenever they see someone in pain, regardless of their own connections, or lack of, to the person. Passing someone wounded or crying is difficult to do without at least feeling something, and sometimes a good few people even approach those in need, hoping to help, hoping to do good. Or at least, that’s what Trip has noticed. He’s an observer if anything, nothing more. He doesn’t feel things like guilt or sadness when he strikes someone down, doesn’t even blink when he puts a bullet through someone’s head. Virus is the same, if not worse. Sympathy just isn’t a thing they can understand or experience. 

But as he watches Virus order their men to kill the two boys who had aimlessly wandered into their territory at the worst possible time, he can’t help but feel _something_. Thoughts of himself and Virus as children come to mind, and for the briefest of moments he considers calling off the approaching attackers as they circle around the trembling kids. 

Normal people would scream and beg to spare the children, he supposes. But he’s not normal, and he’s not a good person either. Holding his tongue, he watches as two gunshots are fired, one bullet in each child. Virus says something about relocating the bodies to some lesser Rib territory for the sake of amusement, and at that Trip can’t help but speak up. 

“We didn’t have to kill them. They’re brats. No one would believe anything they say.”

Virus pauses and turns to him, interest in his eyes. That’s dangerous, just as dangerous as feelings are. “Since when do you care about what we do with people?”

“They were kids. Didn’t seem necessary. I just don’t like waste.”

There’s a tense silence between them as they stare at each other, neither willing to look away or say anything more on the subject. They rarely argue over things like killing, because really, that’s the one thing they can do together without getting on each other’s nerves. Killing and hurting others is natural for them just as sympathizing and caring about people is natural for others. Trip knows he has stepped into unknown territory, but he can’t help but feel weird about this situation.

After all, weren’t he and Virus once kids? That means something, doesn’t it?

He doesn’t know anymore. 

“If you start worrying about things like kids, I’ll have to find a new partner,” Virus finally says, voice flat. “That’s the first step in becoming soft, Trip. Watch yourself. Feelings aren’t for people like us.”

Trip says nothing, merely nods. He’s been having new feelings about many things lately, but that’s not something he wants to voice to Virus, especially in front of their men. Everyone is staring at him, waiting, watching. It’s not normal for someone like Trip to feel. 

Maybe he’s breaking.


	11. thought i needed this

He hits him over and over again, but each time his fist collides with the other’s jaw, he can’t help but feel an odd, empty feeling pool in his stomach. It’s like a hunger that he can’t satisfy. So he hits Trip harder, faster, trying his damned best to get something out of it all. Because if he can’t, then what’s left for him to do other than sit around and just dwell on his own anger? He needs an outlet, and that outlet is Trip, always Trip. Whether he uses him for violence or sex is irrelevant, because it always has to be Trip. 

“You piss me off.” 

Trip says nothing. He merely stares up at Virus, eyes blank as they always are when they go down this road. They beat each other frequently. Sex is usually what Trip prefers when he needs something to quell the white hot rage inside of him, but Virus doesn’t stoop to that level. He likes disappointing Trip, it makes the rush of beating him much more pleasurable.

But today is different. Each hit leaves him feeling emptier than before, so he hits and he hits again and again, wanting nothing more than to just break every fucking bone in the other’s body. He wants to destroy him, wants to claw at his eyes and rip out his tongue. But even then, will he be satisfied?

Probably not.

Virus growls to himself and pushes himself off of Trip, delivering one last kick to his ribs before spitting on him and turning to leave the bedroom. He doesn’t want to deal with this anymore. If he can’t land a decent hit and indulge in his usual bloodlust, then there’s no point in staying here any longer. Trip can rot for all he cares. He can die, just fucking die, because he’ll find another outlet who doesn’t look at him with those goddamn eyes he hates so much. All they do is throw him off, search him with twisted longing that makes his skin crawl--

“Done already?”

He pauses. Looking over his shoulder, he sees that Trip is already sitting up and wiping the blood from his lip. There’s a smugness in his voice that makes Virus want to kick him right in the teeth, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just readjusts his glasses and stares right back at him. 

“I thought I needed this,” he replies quietly, “But as it turns out, violence is not what I need to satisfy my anger with you.”

“Messing up paperwork is hardly something to get mad about, anyway. What a waste.” Trip spits out blood. Disgusting. But at the sight of Virus wrinkling his nose in disgust, he laughs his usual, deep laugh that makes everything just feel worse. The empty feeling is back. It feels like he’s hungry for something that cannot be attained. Irritated, Virus turns away. “What, you want to fuck instead?”

"I'd rather kill myself."


	12. i'm drunk

“I hate you. I hate every little thing about you. Your face, your voice, your mere presence-- it all _disgusts_ me.”

Trip says nothing in response. He merely takes another sip of his whiskey and watches the other through narrowed eyes. There is bitterness on his tongue that isn’t from the alcohol, but he holds it, allowing the taste to poison his insides. Oh, he would just love to reach across the table and grab Virus by the throat. He would just love to throw him to the ground and have his way with him, only to spill himself and the remaining whiskey on his face. To violate him in every sense-- now that would be just grand. And it would get the foul taste out of his mouth, too. 

But he must wait. Virus isn’t drunk enough for that yet. 

“I would just love to have you killed one day... You don’t do shit. I could have a more capable partner if I pulled a few strings,” comes the next drunken rambling. Virus is leaning back in his chair, tracing the rim of his glass with his pinky as he stares off into space. His glasses are sliding down the bridge of his nose, adding to the overall disheveled look of his unbuttoned shirt and slack tie. It’s actually pretty damn entertaining to see him like this, but again, Trip has to wait. It won’t be the same if Virus is still coherent. “Hell, I could have Aoba-san all to myself, too... I never liked sharing.”

“I know.” Trip sets his glass down and leans back in his own seat, kicking his feet up onto the table. Virus looks annoyed at that, but the flush of his cheeks takes away from the serious look in his eyes. At that, Trip merely grins. “You don’t like much of anything.”

There’s a sudden pause. Trip isn’t sure if that’s a sign for him to start moving in or not, but before he can begin to think it through, the other drops his glass to the floor. It shatters, staining the dark floorboards with the drink. Trip isn’t one to care about the tidiness of his room, but damn it, now he has to get another glass for Virus. 

“What was that for?”

“I do like some things, I’ll have you know,” Virus slurs in response, clumsily trying to jab at his feet up on the table. “You act like I’m a robot.”

“Oh, how could I forget? You like hurting people and messing up my room. You want another drink or what, huh?”

“I also like your eyes.” 

Trip nearly falls over backwards. Sitting up, he takes his feet off the table and cautiously leans forward, disbelieving. There’s no way, no fucking way, that Virus just said that. Even if he is drunk, he would never let anything nice slip out like that to him of all people. It’s got to be a mistake. As Trip leans forward, he can see the drunken smirk on Virus’ lips curl. 

“You _what_?”

“Like... your eyes. They’re pretty.” Another pause, followed by an eerie little giggle. It isn’t like Virus to giggle, especially over something like this. “The way they look at me... They get a little darker when they do, don’t they? I like them.” 

And at that, something warm and unfamiliar rouses in his chest. Trip can only curl his hands into fists under the table as he struggles with it, trying to pin it down and identify it as something he can relate to. But there’s nothing that comes to mind, nothing that comes close to anything he’s felt before with Virus. It’s a new feeling, one that leaves him practically trembling with... with _something_ , and it isn’t hatred or desire, surprisingly. Looking up, he attempts to speak once more, only to be met with the sight of Virus leaning closer and closer over the table, his cheeks flushed and lips parted in a way that nearly sends Trip into a frenzy. 

Because this can’t possibly be happening, can it?

Yet he finds himself closing his eyes and leaning forward as well, parting his lips to greet the other’s. They grow close enough to feel their hot breath ghosting over each other’s mouths, close enough to practically graze their lips and touch tongues, but then it suddenly ends. Trip is left cold. Opening his eyes, he finds Virus instead attempting to grab at him. His fingers are right near his eyes and his lips are pressed to his ear.

“I want to rip them out. Let me rip out your eyes. No one disgusting should have eyes this pretty.” 

Trip licks his dry lips and settles back down in his chair. 

“I’m... drunk. Aren’t I?” Virus is wobbling, practically about to slip and fall from the table. He hardly even notices Trip getting up from his seat. “I never get this bad... I wonder why I’m...?” 

Next thing he knows, he’s on the floor, Trip ripping off his clothes and biting his neck hard enough to draw blood.


	13. i want to hurt you

The Residential District is silent at this time of night. In contrast to its usual lively atmosphere, it now sits in the darkness, rotting, coming undone as those too far below the reaches of human understanding slink through the streets in search of something, anything, to do. Killing, violating, stealing-- idle, sinful pleasures for idle, sinful people. Virus and Trip enjoy these dark hours, for this time is always the best for selection. Those who can hold well enough on the streets during this time of night are almost always taken and branded as successful members of Morphine, willingly or not. 

But they do happen to meet resistance from time to time. It’s expected from people as depraved as these. At the slightest unfamiliar touch, they come undone and use whatever they have to strike back, be it their fists or a bottle. They must think they’re so tough, so untouchable-- but they’re wrong. And Trip loves proving that whenever he can, especially when they chose to lunge at Virus first for being the smaller of the two. 

It’s the same tonight: large, hooded man turns at the sound of footsteps and launches at them in a fury, holding a broken beer bottle over his head as he rushes towards Virus first. Only Trip is faster. He always is.

“Fuck you-- who do you think you are, eh?!”

Virus does nothing. He merely watches with a calm smile as the man draws closer and closer. Right before the bottle can crash down against his face, the man is thrown back violently against the alley wall. He cries out in pain and slumps over, dazed and confused by the sudden retaliation. Trip is standing in between him and Virus now, hands removed from his pockets and balled up into fists. A look of pure disgust twists his features. 

“Back off, you piece of dog shit.”

“W-What did you just say?! Fuck, I’ll kill you!”

“Take one step,” Trip says, voice eerily calm, “And I’ll rip your fat head right off.”

Then there’s a laugh. Virus steps forward, his lips curled back in an amused smile as he takes in the sight of the wounded man curled up against the wall in pain. He always takes delight in things like this. That’s partially the reason why Trip makes a point of injuring his unwilling opponents just enough to keep them awake, trembling in pain and fear. “Well, well,” he says, pushing his glasses back into place, “Still awake, I see. That’s impressive. Most would be out cold from that sort of attack. So congratulations-- you’ll make a lovely addition to our growing little project. Trip, make sure this one is taken along with the others.”

The man tries to get up, but Trip kicks him down and presses his foot firmly against his chest to keep him in place. This one is a fighter. An oaf, but a fighter. 

“You bastard... You don’t even fight,” he shouts at Virus, “You have your bodyguard take care of it! What kind of coward are you?”

“Bodyguard?”

Trip bends down and grabs the man by the collar of his jacket, staring into his eyes with cold indifference. He can feel the poor fucker shaking, and that only makes him feel even more annoyed. If he can’t handle the consequences of opening his damn mouth, then he should just shut the hell up. 

“You’ve got it wrong. I’m just saving the honor of beating him senseless for myself.” Trip snakes his hand up the other’s collar and reaches for his throat. Firmly, he squeezes and squeezes, ignoring the choked gasps and whimpers of the man writhing before him. “Pieces of shit like you don’t deserve that honor.” Once the man passes out, he releases him and throws his unconscious body over his shoulders. Surprisingly, he’s light. Trip stands and turns back to his partner, looking completely at ease as he had been before the little encounter. 

“Ready to go?”

Virus makes a face. 

“You really are a pig, you know that?”


	14. i'm awake and you're breathing

The red-haired boy is staring at him again. Only this time, it’s during the late hours of the evening, when they should both be asleep by now. They have testing tomorrow and they really do need to rest, but with the way this boy is staring at him, Virus isn’t sure if he can comfortably do that. Not with such strange eyes watching him throughout the night. It feels like he’s going to be snatched up by this boy, which is laughable to say the least. He’s so much smaller. 

But those eyes do not belong to a mere child. Little or not, the red-haired boy is looking at him with an intensity that causes Virus’ skin to crawl with unease. There’s longing in his gaze, a suppressed desire that manifests itself in the room when they both know better than to bother with each other at this time of night. Unsettled to his point of breaking, Virus finally turns on his mattress and glares back at the boy. He can’t see well without his glasses, but he can easily make out that hideous shade of red across from him. It’s an ugly color. Suitable, though, for an ugly boy.

“Quit looking at me or I’ll kick you out into the hall.”

“You can’t do that. They lock the doors at night.”

Such an annoying reply. Scowling, Virus sits up and fumbles around in search of his glasses. If he’s going to be kept up by such a brat, he might as well be able to see him. “Why are you even up at this hour? We have tests to run tomorrow,” he adds quietly, voice strained with frustration. It normally isn’t like him to lose his temper so easily, but during testing weeks... well, he can’t help but feel a little on edge. There will be needles and foul smelling chemicals and operation tables. He hates those just as much as he hates this boy and his stupid stares. “I need to sleep. I can’t sleep when you stare at me like that. What’s wrong with you?”

The red-haired boy doesn’t move. He remains settled in his bed as he stares at Virus, just fucking stares. At this rate, he’d rather just rip his goddamn eyes out. 

“I’m awake.”

“So?”

“And you’re breathing.”

“That has nothing to do with it.”

The boy’s expression pinches. Somehow, this makes Virus want to remove his glasses and turn away. A child his age shouldn’t be looking at him like that, with such adult-like focus. It’s unnatural. But as Virus shoots him a cold look and moves to rest beneath his blankets again, the red-haired boy speaks. 

“The sound of your breathing excites me. I want to hear you breathe, so I stay awake and listen.”

Virus tucks his glasses under his pillow and turns away from the boy. Unsettled, he doesn’t sleep well for the rest of the night, feeling those horrid little eyes practically eating up his backside. By morning, the boy is asleep and Virus entertains the idea of suffocating him with his pillow before the doctors come to take them to the operating room. 

But he tosses the idea aside along with the pillow as soon as he hears their door unlock from the outside. It’s morning now. He has better things to do.


	15. this is my desperation in action

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> halfway done with this fic! gotta say, i'm surprised that i haven't given up on it yet. i usually get pretty lazy about writing by this point, but everyone's encouragement has kept me going! thanks for your support :^)

Aoba is nothing like Virus. In looks, personality, and behavior, they really are nothing alike. But that doesn’t stop Trip from seeing what he wants to see in the former as he carves his wicked passions into his skin and bones. In fact, it motivates him to do more, to try harder than ever to forge a connection between the two men in a way that can satisfy his own delights. After all, if he can’t have Virus, he can always have Aoba-- and if he tries his absolute best, then Aoba can easily become a suitable replacement. He can raise the once cheerful young man to become bitter and hateful. He can break him and reform him to his liking. It will take time and he knows it, but Trip is willing to put his patience to this test for the sake of his own desperation. 

Today, he has removed the blindfold from Aoba, and he has let him sit up on the bed. He looks a little shaken, as he hasn’t been allowed to sit up on his own for quite some time now-- weeks, has it been? But there will be no punishment for that. Not today. Trip is training him. 

“I’m going to approach you from here. What will you do when you see me?”

A pause. “I… I will… Lie down?” 

Trip sighs. Training a pet sure is a difficult task. Walking over to the bed, he reaches over and gives Aoba’s hair a sharp little tug, earning him a startled whimper in response. “No. You need to be… more like him.”

“Like V-Virus…?”

“Yes.”

“But I don’t… I don’t know if I can…”

Not with that attitude. But Trip merely grumbles to himself in response, already finding himself struggling with what little patience he has left. He should have trained Aoba earlier on. “Forget it. We’ll try again tomorrow. Lie down.” That is something Aoba knows how to do. In silence, he fixes his position on the bed and readily begins spreading his legs, waiting for Trip to fill the space between them. At this point, that’s all he’s really good for. Touching himself, offering others pleasure-- a living fucktoy. If Virus were to become like this, Trip wouldn’t mind. Hell, he wouldn’t even need Aoba then. 

For now, though, he needs him to ease the desperate fantasies he cannot achieve. Trip climbs up onto the bed and begins to tug down his pants, avoiding looking at the other as he does so. If he just stares at the soft, bruised thighs right before him, he can transfer the image to Virus, can picture his partner being the one spread out before him like a lifeless doll. The idea of it being Virus instead automatically arouses him, and soon he’s erect and ready to take Aoba for the third time today. 

“Say it like him, alright?”

Aoba stares off to the side, expression empty. 

“This is all I’m good for now,” he murmurs to himself, “And it’s still not enough for you, Trip…?”


	16. i want to break you

Breaking Aoba had been a fairly simple task. All they had to do was violate him over and over, spilling declarations of both love and disgust in between moments of twisted passion in order to further isolate the man from the reaches of his own sanity. It had taken a couple weeks to wreck him to his current point, but now Aoba is completely theirs in mind, body and spirit. A living fucktoy. Trip can’t say that he’s emotionally attached to the idea of keeping Aoba for themselves, but seeing the horrid process through which he became undone? Witnessing the breakdown of a man once so lively and strong? It gives Trip hope that maybe, just maybe, the process can be repeated once more. 

Of course, Virus is entirely different from Aoba, so it’ll be much more difficult to break him. What would he even have to do? Virus is already used to being treated like the scum of the earth. Their childhoods had seen well enough to that. Would tying him up and taking him over and over again do the trick? Or maybe locking him up in some desolate room? That had worked pretty well with Aoba. 

Trip is so taken with his thoughts that he hardly even notices Virus placing a cup of coffee before him. He only regains focus as the smell hits him. 

“What’s this?”

“Coffee. I made a little too much, so it’s best not to waste it.”

“Mm.” He doesn’t say thanks. Instead, he nods and takes the mug to his lips, taking a hesitant sip. It doesn’t smell or taste funny, so it’s safe to assume Virus hasn’t poisoned it. 

Virus stirs his own, staring down into the dark brew as he does. He must be thinking about something. Silence passes between them for a few minutes before Virus finally breaks it by clearing his throat, calling for attention. Trip looks up. 

“What were you thinking about? You looked pretty serious about something for once.”

Trip watches him for a moment before taking another sip from his coffee. It’s bitter-- just the way he hates it, and his partner knows it well. Fucker. Setting the mug down, he leans back in his chair and sighs loudly. “Nothing important. Just wondering about things you don’t like.” He pauses. “You always go out of your way to do things I don’t like. Unfair.”

“That’s because I pay attention,” Virus replies with a dry laugh, “If you’re going to pounce, you have to do it at just the right moment. You could learn a thing or two from me.”

Now that’s an interesting idea. Trip leans forward again, now propping his elbows up on the table as he rests his chin on his hands. If he were to take Virus’ advice, then wouldn’t that mean Virus himself would have a hand in his own undoing? That’d be pretty pathetic. Tragic, even. Maybe just enough to break Virus, the prideful bastard, to the point of submission. 

“So if I were to do all that," Trip offers, a smirk curling at his lips, "Would you hold it against me?”

“No. It’d be my fault for dropping my guard like a fool. I don't trust you as it is.” Virus takes a long, thoughtful sip of his coffee. He looks pretty calm, all things considered. “But I would hate you-- not like that would be anything new.” 

"Good. It wouldn't be fun any other way."


	17. wish i didn't love you

He hates Trip. Absolutely fucking hates him. 

But at the same time, the thought of going anywhere without him at his side is an uncomfortable one, a reality that he would rather avoid than ever come to face. He doesn’t know why this is, doesn’t know how or when this came to be. All he knows is that he would rather keep things the way they are-- with hatred on his tongue and wicked desire in his chest. Trip might not agree, but fuck it. Who cares about what Trip wants? Certainly not him. 

Virus watches his partner from across the room, gaze idle as he taps his pen repeatedly against the pile of papers set before him. They are unfinished, untouched. Normally he would get through them right away, but today he can’t. Trip isn’t looking at him like he usually is. He isn’t practically looming over him or trying to sneak little touches here and there either. Somehow this both relieves and bothers him at the same time. 

_I don’t want you to touch me, but I also want you to touch only me._

His stare doesn’t go by unnoticed. Trip turns away from his coil and looks back at him, brow furrowed. “What, need me to do something for you?”

_I fucking hate you. I hate you for making me feel like this. Kill yourself._

But Virus doesn’t say this. He doesn’t dare address the strange feeling making his insides hot and uncomfortable, trembling with a sickening vulnerability that leaves him more angry than anything. If this is what they call 'love', he wants nothing to do with it. Nothing at all. So instead, he glares back before returning to his work, muttering, “As if someone as idiotic as you could ever be of use to me.” Trip says nothing in reply. He merely returns to his coil, but there is a newfound tension in the room that Virus eagerly embraces. This is better than nothing. Hatred and anger is what he's used to. But at the same time, it leaves him cold, leaves him empty and unsatisfied.

"I really can't stand the thought of you. It's always pissing me off," he says quietly, glancing bitterly towards his partner again. Trip meets his brief gaze and says nothing, just as before. Only this time, he smiles. 

"At least I'm on your mind."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> iM GONNA START UPDATING THIS FIC AGAIN SORRY FOR THE LONG ABSENCE/////


	18. i pity you

Dealing with Sei is a demeaning task in itself. Toue refers to it as “safe guarding their most treasured asset”, but in reality it’s nothing more than glorified babysitting-- hell, the way everyone goes on about it, one would think the boy would forget how to breathe if someone weren’t there to monitor him. Really, Trip just finds all the fuss to be annoying. Being stuck with the doll-like boy for hours on end, sitting in nothing but uncomfortable silence in a room that looks like the vomited remains of childhood, sounds absolutely fucking awful, and he doesn’t get why everyone pretends that it’s the greatest job in the world. Even Virus gets swept up in the commotion, and knowing that makes Trip’s stomach twist in knots. 

There really is nothing special about him. Virus doesn’t have to smile like that, doesn’t have to say, “Sei-san” in that sweet, syrupy voice of his. Not even Aoba gets this manner of gentle treatment from him, and knowing how accessible Sei is in comparison leaves a bitter taste in Trip’s mouth.  
Maybe Virus just enjoys the appeal of vulnerability.

That and the uniqueness of having someone like Sei in their lives. After all, interesting things are their passion, and whether Trip likes it or not, the boy is a rather interesting case. If not for his powers, Virus would never bother to deal with him-- right? And besides, the brat is dying. Trip can see it, can see how the will to live and continue on is slowly but surely leaving Sei. Soon he’ll be dead, and that’ll be one less problem for him to deal with.

But for now, he slaps on a thin smile and allows himself to continue standing by the frail boy’s bed, joining Virus in attempts to convince him to eat something. His own offers are casual, half-hearted. Virus’, however, are unrelenting. 

“Sei-san, please. You must eat something. It is our job to take care of you, and take care of you we shall.” 

The boy slowly shakes his head, careful not to exhaust the little energy he has left, and quietly responds with a, “No, thank you.” 

Well, if he isn’t hungry, then they can’t force him to eat. That isn’t their job. All they do is guard him for a few long hours, then pass him off to the medical team so they can continue sticking him with needles and pumping odd fluids into his veins, all for the sake of extending what little life he has left. Toue fusses over the boy like no other, and Trip can’t help but feel a sick hint of glee at the thought of Aoba one day meeting the same, hopeless fate. Virus won’t be interested in either twins once they’re both dead and out of the way. 

Encouraged, he turns to Virus. “Hey, he’s not hungry.”

His partner pushes his sliding glasses up the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. “Sei-san, I insist. You really must eat something. Wouldn’t it be better to eat alongside us than with those doctors of yours?”

_Shut up._

“I… I suppose, but I really don’t feel like eating. But thank you.”

“Sei-san, I really think you should con--”

“Damn it, Virus, cut the act. He’s not fucking hungry.”

And at that, Trip bites his tongue hard enough to taste the beginnings of blood. Silence fills the room, with Sei quickly averting his eyes and Virus visibly flinching at what had been said. Consequences are sure to follow. Yet right as Virus sharply turns on his heel, eyes narrowed and darkened with the obvious desire to reach out and strike, a timid voice cuts between them. 

“A-Ah, actually, I am pretty thirsty… Virus, would water be alright?”

It takes a few brief moments for the situation to simmer down from where it had nearly escalated, but once the air of calm returns to the room, Virus straightens himself out and throws on a smile. “Of course,” he replies sweetly, nudging Trip hard for good measure before heading towards the doorway, “I’ll return shortly, Sei-san.”

Then he leaves. Trip finds himself focused on staring at the wall ahead of him, not too keen on the idea of being stuck with Sei for any longer than he has to. Frustration and jealousy aside, the boy just… creeps him out. Those lifeless eyes with the power to see into others make him feel vulnerable, exposed. So he guards himself well and refuses eye contact, hoping that it’ll be enough to protect himself. His thoughts and memories are not for others to see. 

“...Trip?”

He swallows. “What, need something else?”

Sei smiles sadly. “No. I’m… I’m sorry, Trip.”

“For what?”

Apologizing for the situation with Virus is kind of pathetic, if that’s what it is. Trip can already feel annoyance begin to pinch at his insides, and suddenly the urge to tell the boy to shut up is dancing at the very tip of his tongue. But he does nothing about that. Virus will get angry at him again if he dares speak up against Sei. It’s a frustrating situation, and Trip can’t find a solution to any part of it. 

“It’s just that… I think I understand it,” Sei continues quietly, lowering his gaze. For a moment, it looks as if he might start crying-- and won’t _that_ be a mess to deal with if Virus comes back at the wrong time. “Feeling for someone, wanting to be with them. But you can’t… It’s not the exact same, but I… I think I can understand how frustrating it is. I’ve noticed this for a while, and I’m sorry you have to--” 

_Enough. Shut up._

Trip doesn’t even realize that he had practically screamed those words aloud. All he knows is that he’s angry, that he’s humiliated and about ready to reach over and grab the boy by his oversensitive black hair. How dare he speak about him and Virus like that, as if he could understand anything he felt. How fucking dare he try to insert himself into a situation he had no goddamn part in. Even as a sharp call of his name rings from the doorway, Trip doesn’t even bother correcting himself or apologizing for his sudden outburst. Seeing red, he turns and storms out of the room, pushing Virus aside as he does.

"Trip, where are you going? Get back here this insta--”

“Shut the fuck up. If you like him so much, just fuck him already and get it over with,” he snarls over his shoulder. And with that, he takes off down the hall, cursing Sei, cursing Toue, cursing _everyone_. 

He doesn’t need their pity.


	19. this isn't about you at all

Even with the club music pounding in his ears, Virus can still hear the crisp, emotionless tone of the doctors calling out to him from the doorway, a unique set of numbers passing from their lips. Those numbers, that unique code printed on everything from the papers in their hands to the collar tightly encircled around his neck, were his only means of identity. As a test subject, he had no name-- he was far from deserving of one then.

Those days, he and the others were referred to by numbers, not names. It wasn’t until they proved themselves worthy and surpassed every operation and procedure did they finally earn the human right of owning a name, a means of identification and existence. But every now and then, Virus finds himself slipping up. He writes the first few digits of his identification code when signing papers before pausing and scratching it out with dark, angry strokes of his pen. Sometimes he introduces himself, the numbers at the very tip of his tongue, before pausing and having to remember that he’s passed those days, that he’s no longer known or cared for by that identity. 

Times like those, he comes here and curses himself, curses the world. He drinks to forget it all, to make the memory of those numbers blurred as can be. But by now he’s at his fourth glass and can still hear the doctors calling to him, their voices drowning out the music blasting all around him in the club. Their grave voices, heavy with purpose yet lacking-- 

“Drinking by yourself, pretty boy?”

Interrupted, Virus stiffens and looks over his shoulder, brow furrowed. A taller man is standing behind him, licking his lips and looking him over with eyes that practically scream with lust. 

_Pathetic_ , he thinks, but the attention does feel pretty good. 

“It's preferable to drinking with people like you.”

“Ooh, I see now," the man replies with a laugh, drawing close enough to share the stench of cheap beer on his breath. "You’re the angry kind of drunk. How about I make your night worthwhile, eh? We can pop into the bathroom. Go at it nice and easy."

And soon Virus feels a large, sweaty hand sliding down his backside, fingertips inching closer to his belt. They’re prying, searching, as if they mean to rip his clothes straight from his body. It’s obvious what this man wants and how he intends to get it, but at this point-- who cares? Maybe it’ll be enough to shake his thoughts. Setting down his glass, Virus turns in his seat, feigning interest in the offer. 

“Nice and easy isn’t my preference. You can do better than that, can’t you?”

The man smirks. 

And it’s then that Virus wonders just how many people this stranger has slept with. A few? Maybe a dozen, maybe more? Are his nightly successes counted by numbers, not names, and left to become nothing more than blurred faces left twisted in pleasure? The thought of becoming another number in the eyes of anyone doesn’t sit well with Virus. He won’t become a nameless encounter, a brief stain of passion to be forgotten and replaced by mere digits, as if they could make up for the loss of his identity. Virus pauses at this and returns his gaze to his drink, suddenly feeling bitter once more. The mood is gone.

“Actually… I think I’ll pass.”

“What?”

“Run along and find someone else to bait.”

The man grunts and jerks Virus back by the collar of his suit, nearly dragging him off the barstool. “Don’t get mouthy with me, pretty boy.”

If Virus weren’t so disoriented, he would turn around and smack the other clean in the face before giving him a proper beating. But tonight there are old wounds tearing open, and everything just feels so… tiring. Pointless. Virus stares at the man through cold, unfeeling eyes before looking away again, unwilling to do anything just yet. Feeling sluggish, he allows the man to lift him a little off of his seat. 

Briefly, it reminds him of the doctors who would lift his small, frail body up off the operation table and into a chair burdened with restraints. _Just a few more tests_ , they would assure him, using his number ID each and every time, _Be a good boy. Be a brave boy._

“Trying to act tough or something?”

Before a response can be made, Virus finds himself dropped back onto the bar stool. The man falls back and lands hard against the floor, the glass in his hand shattering and spilling its content all around his hand. 

“Virus, was this guy bugging you?”

Oh. 

Trip. 

Virus stares at his partner for a moment, uncertain of whether to feel relief or annoyance in his presence, before heaving a sigh and turning back to his drink. He isn’t in the mood for idiocy. Taking a sip of his drink, he shuts his eyes and savors the bittersweet taste, hoping to down the bile that’s been building at the back of his throat all night. 

“Are you going to answer me or what?” Trip takes a seat beside him, grunting with effort. 

“Go away.”

“What did I do this time?”

“This isn’t about you at all.”

Trip scowls and reaches over, attempting to take away the drink. “Why are you in such a fucking shit mood? All you do now is drink and complain these days."

"I just have a lot on my mind. Shut up." 

But it’s then that Virus wishes he really could could say something about the nightmares, about the cold sweat that breaks across his skin as he tangles himself in his bedsheets, gasping and silently crying, _That’s not me, that’s not my name._ But he’d rather cut out his own tongue than admit that sort of weakness to Trip. Vulnerability is a death sentence. 

Scoffing, he turns away. 

“Like I said, it’s none of your business.”


	20. don't do this to me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> following the original prompt list, this chapter should be "i hate you". but i found that to be a little boring considering how i've already messed with scenarios along those lines anyway. so i changed it~

Virus has all sorts of nasty habits. Whether he knows it or not, he does little things here and there that just make everything much more frustrating than they really should be. From leaving behind impossible workloads to making nasty remarks to strangers who Trip will obviously have to deal with behind closed doors before they can even think about getting even, it’s all just downright unpleasant to deal with. But Trip has learned to expect all this and more from his partner, and now he does his best to remain a good two or three steps ahead of any possible consequences. 

It might be a little inconvenient, but at times it really does prove helpful. Like tonight-- coming home well past midnight after having to deal with Virus dumping all his paperwork on him earlier in the afternoon, a mess with Toue well avoided by his cooperation with the sudden change in plans. Trip drops the stack of papers off on the kitchen table as soon as he comes home. It’s well past midnight and Virus is certainly asleep, but knowing that he did something to please Virus leaves a warm, satisfied feeling to sit in the pit of his stomach. So he won’t complain. Not now, anyway. When Virus shows his usual unappreciative response, then maybe he will, but for now he’s content thinking that maybe this once he’ll receive a gentle touch or affectionate gaze as thanks. 

He heads towards his room, rounding the corner and beginning to loosen his tie. At this point all he wants to do is lie down and sleep. To hell with changing out of his work clothes. If anything, he can just wash the sheets in the morning when he feels awake and willing. Doing work for Virus might be a thankless task, sure, but there’s always the reward of sleep at the end of it all. Body aching from the hours spent filling out the papers on the Morphine project, he stretches and yawns, reaching out to push his door wide open.

Only for some unknown reason, his door is shut tight. It never is when he leaves the apartment, never is when he returns. Virus never cares enough to even bother with it, so why would it even be closed all the way like this? As curious as Trip is, he decides the need to sleep outweighs his need to figure the little mystery out. Hell, it’s just a fucking door anyway. Doesn’t matter if it’s open or closed so long as he still has a room to come home to, really. 

He grabs the door handle and just barely begins to push down on it before he overhears a soft creaking sound come from inside his bedroom.

Now that gets his attention. Even more so than his door being uncharacteristically closed. 

Trip frowns and leans closer, pressing his ear to the dark wood as he listens through. Is someone in his room-- possibly Virus? But for what reason? As badly as he wants to think that maybe, just maybe, one of his fantasies might be coming true tonight, he knows better than to get his hopes up. Virus would rather cut off his tongue and gouge out his own eyes than do anything like that for him. So if he is in there… perhaps snooping, or leaving another mess behind for him to deal with before his own needs.

Yet then he hears something else: a moan. Virus’ moan. 

It’s soft, just barely audible. Trip feels his face slowly begin to heat up as realization dawns on him: the understanding that Virus is in his room, possibly pleasuring himself while thinking that he’s completely alone. He could barge right in on him if he wanted to, could open the door and walk right in on the beautiful sight of Virus touching himself and moaning for him, only him. But where’s the fun in that? Trip smirks and presses closer to the door, hoping to hear any other delicious noises Virus might make in the seemingly private space of the bedroom. Already he can feel his pants begin to grow tight, a sticky heat forming between his legs. 

“Yes, there,” Virus whines, voice louder. Trip shivers with pleasure and tightens his hold on the door handle, trying desperately to hold on and listen for a few more moments before going inside. As badly as he wants to see, he still wants to hear, to discover whatever sort of dirty things Virus does when he thinks he’s alone. Thinking about it gives him a wicked thrill. 

Swallowing, he reaches down and presses his free hand against the front of his pants. A forming bulge rests there. Without a hint of shame or embarrassment, he slowly begins to rub himself, enjoying the soft, muffled noises Virus continues to make from the other side of the doorway as pleasure begins to eat at his insides. It feels nice, this sort of dity behavior. Gritting his teeth, he squeezes himself, feeling the firmness of his sac and the stiffening length of his cock begin to strain against the fabric of his slacks. It’s nice, so fucking nice. 

But then he hears a cry of, “Fuck me harder,” from Virus.

And to that, a voice replies, “Yes, god, yes.” 

His hand goes still. 

Someone is in his room with Virus. Someone is in there on his bed, fucking Virus and making him beg for it in ways Trip has only been able to dream of. Whoever they are, they must have been invited in while he was out, seduced by whatever charms Virus had to lie through his teeth to perform properly. And then they undressed and climbed onto his bed to stain his sheets with filth. The hot arousal that had previously pumped through his veins runs cold, only to reheat as anger, pure and boiling, takes hold of him. 

Without thinking, he yanks down on the door handle and pushes it open. And in that moment all he can possibly think about is barging in and dragging the other man right off of Virus. Maybe he’d kill him, stain the floor with blood and regret before moving onto Virus-- what he would do to him, he doesn’t know. But certainly he will have his way with him one way or another. 

Yet as Trip opens the door, he finds himself freezing up instead. 

Through the small crack he’s already opened, he can see Virus clearly. Sprawled out on his bed, writhing beneath the touch of a man in a dark hood (a Morphine member, no doubt), he cries out and moans without restraint. It’s hardly the cold, composed man Trip knows. Staring hard, he watches as Virus grips the sheets, his sheets, and begs the man holding him up by his hips to fuck him deeper, harder, so that he’s screaming and cumming all over himself. Trip would find the situation erotic if it weren’t so horrifying. 

_Because it’s my room._

_Because it’s Virus._

_Why is he doing this?_

It’s then that Virus turns his head towards the doorway and makes eye contact. Trip freezes up and feels the sudden urge to turn and run desperately tug at his insides, but he just can’t. Not that he doesn’t want to, but his body… it refuses to move. Just as his eyes refuse to look away, even with Virus staring right back at him, unphased by being caught in the act. It’s disturbing how calm he seems with the situation, but what’s worse is the hint of a smile curled at his lips. Trip wants to rip it right off his face and scream at him, scream at him for every awful feeling that’s currently gripping his insides. But again, he can’t.

Virus continues looking at him before finally turning away, throwing his head back as his hooded partner continues thrusting into him. The bed creaks beneath their weight, moans along with them as they dirty the sheets and shift against each other. And it’s then with painful realization that Trip notices that he’s still hard, still aching for Virus, only Virus.

Keeping his eyes on Virus’ writhing form, Trip slowly begins to palm himself through the front of his slacks. He indulges in a shameful stroke, then a squeeze. Before long, he’s pleasuring himself as the scene before him unfolds. Virus’ moans and pleas grow louder as time passes, and Trip soon finds himself clutching the doorway out of desperation to hang on just a little longer, just enough to hold off his climax until Virus finishes first. He wants him, wants to watch him even like this. The pain in his chest will fade soon enough either way.

And besides, it still feels nice so long as it’s Virus.


	21. you'll do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a little more nsfw than the others, just so you know. it also takes place during the sly blue years in case anyone is confused.

“--Will you fucking quit looking around like that? Virus isn’t here. And even if he is, who cares?”

Certainly not Aoba, that’s for sure. But Trip can’t say the same for himself. Even while knowing his partner is out running errands, he can’t help but feel hesitant, as if Virus might walk in on them at any given moment. It’s certainly not fear or nervousness keeping him from indulging in the gracious services his blue-haired companion has been providing for the past twenty minutes, but… well, it’s something. And even through the sex-induced fog clouding his mind, that something is bothering him. Trip grits his teeth at the thought, feeling frustrated with himself for even taking the time to consider the other’s feelings at this point. Virus would never hesitate like this on his behalf.

Soon he feels Aoba’s fingernails sharply dig into his exposed sides. He winces and turns his attention back to the teen straddling his hips, scowling.

“What was that for?”

“For taking your eyes off me.”

And with that, their erections rub against each other. Trip had nearly forgotten just where they were: naked, with Aoba straddling him and preparing to mount his cock slickened with saliva and lubricant. They had stopped by this cheap, filthy motel on the way back from a Rhyme match after Aoba had begun his usual antics. With Virus gone, Trip was practically left helpless to the other’s advances, and so they wound up half-fucking in an alleyway before finally stumbling into the motel to finish what they had started.

It’s dirtier without Virus around. There is no pace, no precautions, no breathless sighs of “Aoba-san” filling the heated air between their bodies. No sharing either. Trip would like to say it’s much more thrilling this way, and for a moment he nearly believes that to be so. Watching Aoba peer down at him through half-lidded eyes, golden hues darkened with lust as he lowers himself onto Trip’s cock, it really does seem better, almost ideal. There’s no Virus around to hog Aoba to himself and belittle Trip in the process when it’s just the two of them like this.

But at the same time… it feels like something is missing. Incomplete, somehow.

The pleasure is still there, of course. God, is it still there. Trip shuts his eyes and releases a low groan, stiffly rocking his hips upwards in time to match the reckless speed Aoba’s trying to keep up. Loud cries and moans of his name fill the motel room, and each time he hears, “Fuck me, Trip, fuck me!”, he feels his dick throb inside that tight heat. Even if he’s hardly doing any of the work at this point, he doesn’t mind.

Seconds blur into minutes, minutes into hours. Trip can’t tell how long they’ve been at it now, with the positions and levels of ecstasy changing with each shuddering breath and cry they release together. It’s never like this with Virus-- Virus always insists that they must take better care of Aoba, that Aoba must rest and keep his senses for another time, another purpose. The old bastard puts on a front of being a gentleman even in the bedroom, when really Trip knows just how sick and depraved he can be.

Sometimes he likes to think about just how sick and depraved Virus could get with him alone. Not Aoba, just him.

At that thought, a dull ache rouses in his chest.

 _Virus_.

He thrusts into Aoba one last time before hitting his climax, Virus’ name hot on his lips as he buries himself deep and allows his cum to fill the teen. A muffled, confused sound is the response he receives, but it’s quickly swallowed up by the loud cry released as Aoba reaches his limit as well. The sheets stain themselves with his fluid, and Trip can’t help but lazily roll his hips once more, relishing the tight heat encasing his cock, before finally pulling out. He feels satisfied, at least physically.

But then it hits him.

Aoba senses his realization and sits up, lips drawn back in a snarl. “Just... What the fuck was that? You had your dick in me and you had the fucking nerve to cum to the thought of Virus? Over  _me?_ ”

Even in his post-sex state, the teen looks menacing. Teeth bared and eyes sharp, it looks as if he meants to lunge forward and attack. The hickeys, mussed-up hair, and flushed cheeks don’t take away from this frightening image at all, and if anything, that’s what concerns Trip the most. Aoba is unpredictable, and things always take an ugly, violent turn when he can’t have his fun. Swallowing, Trip sits himself up properly and begins filing through his mind for some kind of excuse or reason to back himself up.

“He’s always here with us when we do this, isn’t he? I was confused. It won’t happen again.”

“Bullshit!” Aoba shoots his hand forward and grabs him by the hair, tugging him down to eye level. “You’ve been thinking about him since we first got here, you sick little puppy. What, I’m not a good enough fuck for you? Is that it?”

“Aoba-- Sly-- I mean, fuck, listen, it was an accident.”

The teen laughs and shoves him away. “You really think that was an accident? You want him. But you fucked me instead, cause there’s no way Virus would ever consider sleeping with you. Isn’t that just too bad?” There’s more laughter as he begins crawling forward, moving to straddle Trip once again. Attempts to push him away are made in vain as he grabs a fistful of his blond hair again, keeping him steady and right where he wants him. “I’m offended, Trip. Am I not good enough for you? Hm?”

Trip wants to strike him across the face and throw him to the floor. But he can’t; raising a hand against Aoba would result in consequences far greater than a soiled reputation and shame in the bedroom. Swallowing back his anger and humiliation, he looks away, staring down at the empty space beside him on the bed. He wishes he had gone with Virus today to run those errands. Being with Virus… he wants to be with Virus right now, not Aoba.

But he can’t avoid this now. Not with Aoba grabbing his cock again, roughly jerking it back to hardness as he giggles in sick delight.

“Stop… That’s enough, we’re done…”

“No. Not until you apologize to me for using me as an outlet for your sick little obsession with Virus. I’m no one’s fuck toy.”

Trip has not cried once in his life, but right now he feels pretty close to it. Humiliated, angry, and confused, he gasps out an apology, trying to ignore the overwhelming sensations gripping him. “I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry. I didn't... Just... Get off. Get the fuck off of me.”

Aoba smiles and tugs sharply, delighted by the pained sound that follows.

“No. I'm better than Virus. Let me show you.”

 


	22. i'm scared

The bandages wrapped tightly around his head are beginning to hurt. But as aggravating as the pressure is, Virus knows he must endure for just a while longer-- after all, removing them anytime ahead of schedule will only ruin his healing process. And the last thing he wants to do is go back into that dreadful white room where the men in coats and masks wait with their sharp tools. So whenever he feels a dull ache begin to throb beneath the tight bindings, he folds his hands over his mouth and bites. Out with the old pain and in with the new. He can’t see his bloodied fingers anyway.

Yet while he can’t, Trip certainly can.

The boy sits at his side, persistent. “Your hands are covered in marks.”

“Quiet. It helps keep me focused.”

He can’t see a damned thing. There’s only darkness, an unsettling, lonely darkness, and it makes him feel vulnerable in all the wrong ways. Loud noises make him jump in alarm, wondering if something might end up hitting him. The usual bullies who crowd him in the halls take delight in running past him and knocking him off his feet, leaving him disoriented and panicked on the floor as he tries to get a sense of what’s happening. It’s a frightening way to pass his days, and he’s taken to hiding in his quarters for most of the day to avoid his own helplessness.

Trip should be going in for his ocular advancement surgery in a month or so. He’s still young. But he shows potential, according to the doctors, and that both worries and comforts Virus. Trip will be made vulnerable and helpless too. He won’t be the only one.

“When you go through this, you’ll understand just how frustrating it is. Being blind is awful.”

“I don’t really care either way.”

And then there’s a sound. Virus turns towards it, processing what it could be until he realizes that Trip is preparing to leave. Soft footsteps head towards the doorway, but at the last moment he reaches out and searches for some part of the younger boy to hold onto. He latches onto his sleeve after a few struggled attempts, finally managing to pull him back. Trip grunts.

“What? I need to take a piss.”

Virus grips the cloth of his sleeve tightly. “...Don’t leave me alone like this.”

A moment of silence passes before Trip yanks himself free from his grip. A cry of anger and fear threatens to spill past Virus’ lips, but before it does he feels a small, warm hand slip into his own. It squeezes around his injured fingers, encouraging him to calm down.

“Don’t worry. I’m here.”


End file.
